


Let Me Take Care Of You

by squirtturtle665



Series: Inception Bingo 2017 [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: inceptiversary, Enemies Working Together, Fluff and Angst, Inception Bingo, M/M, Pre-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtturtle665/pseuds/squirtturtle665
Summary: "You've never had any problem sleeping on my couches before," Arthur said.Eames chuckled softly. "We do normally end up in bed, though, don't we? I figured I'd give us a head start."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Inception Bingo.
> 
> This is my first Inception fic, which is weird because I have loved the movie for so so long and have shipped Arthur and Eames for so so long. When I stumbled upon this wonderful fandom still completely alive and thriving, I wanted in. So here it is! Hope you all can welcome a late newcomer. Also, the whole enemies working together thing doesn't really come in until Part 3, so bear with me. 
> 
> P.S. Bonus points if you can spot the Harry Potter reference

*Six months before inception*

             “Hello?” Arthur said, answering his phone to an unknown number.

              He’d just returned to his safe house in Copenhagen after completing a job for Cobb that didn’t end too well. Arthur would never admit it, but he definitely got his ass kicked, and he knew he had the bruises to prove it.

              “Ah, darling, it’s good to hear your voice,” Eames said in a rush. “Listen, I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a- well, um, a bit of a situation.”

              Arthur hadn’t heard from Eames since the last job they worked on together almost four months ago, and it was nice just to know that he was alive.

              Arthur sighed. “Why am I not surprised? You always seem to be getting yourself into situations.”

              He could practically hear Eames rolling his eyes. “Your belittlement cuts deep, it really does.”

              “How can I help you, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asked, rummaging in his bathroom cupboards for painkillers.

              The line was silent for a few seconds before gunshots rang out that were loud enough for Arthur to pull his phone away from his ear, grimacing from the noise.

              “Eames?” Arthur said, concerned. “You still there?”

              He only got heavy breathing in response, but it was enough. After a few moments, Eames spoke up again.

              “Yeah, I’m still here, darling,” he explained, still gasping for air. “You know me. I’m too bloody stubborn to die.”

              “What the hell just happened?” Arthur took four painkillers, two more than he should have, but he figured the higher the pain, the higher the dosage.

              “Thought I’d lost my tail, but as it turns out, I hadn’t. Now I just need to figure out what to do with the bodies.”

              “Leave them and find someone to do the clean-up job,” Arthur suggested. “Where are you? Do you need a place to stay?”

              “That’s why I called you in the first place. I know you have a slew of houses in Europe, but you wouldn’t happen to have one in Copenhagen, would you?”

              Arthur laughed. Leave it to Eames to have the best damn luck in the world.

              “Oh, Eames. I’ve always admired your-,”

              “Looks? Charm? Wit? Intelligence?” Eames fired back.

              “Your luck. I just got off a job in Hamburg and made it to my apartment. In Copenhagen. It’s small, but you’re welcome to stay.” Arthur sat down on his couch, wincing in pain.

              “What’s happened to you?” Eames asked.

              “Nothing, don’t worry about me,” Arthur said. He gave Eames the address to the safe house before adding, “Just get here in one piece.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

              Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at Arthur’s door. He pried his bruised body off of the couch and walked over to the door. When he peered through the peephole and saw Eames, relief coursed through his body.

              “You are a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Eames,” Arthur said, opening the door.

              “As are you,” Eames replied. He looked Arthur up and down and then burst into laughter. “Arthur, darling, you look like shit. I mean, really. It looks like a vacuum cleaner chewed you up and then spit you back out.” He set his bag on Arthur’s counter. “I would hug you, but I’m afraid I might break you.”

              Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur anyway. It hurt Arthur like hell, but the feeling of being back in the forger’s arms was worth it.

              “You should look in a mirror,” Arthur said, pulling out of the hug. “You don’t look too hot yourself.”

              Eames chuckled. “Oh, I never said you didn’t look hot. You look as dashing as ever, just, you know, a bit bruised around the edges.”

              Arthur wasn’t sure whether he should blush or roll his eyes. “You’re not too banged up, are you?”

              Eames smirked, and Arthur could tell he was fighting off rambling out an innuendo. “Just a few bumps and bruises, nothing major. However…,” he trailed off.

              “I know, I know,” Arthur grumbled, sitting down on one of the barstools behind the counter. “’However, after tonight, I suspect I’ll have a very different answer to that question’,” he said in a rather terrible British accent.

              “I was just going to say I could use a shower, but I won’t turn you down if you’re offering.”

              Arthur groaned and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the counter. “Shower is through the bedroom, to the left,” he directed.

              He heard Eames walk behind the counter and then stop right next to him. “I think you could use a drink,” Eames said quietly, breath hot on Arthur’s ear. “You seem a little tense.”

              Eames placed a kiss right below Arthur’s ear and walked off to the bathroom. Arthur felt as though he was the one who needed the shower now, and a cold one at that.

              “Can’t wait to hear about how you got your arse kicked, by the way!” Eames called from the bathroom.

              Arthur heard the door close and the shower start, and only then did he start to breathe normally again. There had always been intense chemistry between Arthur and Eames. They’d never actually discussed it, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t acted on it before. They had. Many times.

              A few minutes went by of Arthur wondering what he’d just gotten himself into before he got off the barstool to get that drink Eames mentioned. Before he could get too far, a pain rolled through the left side of his stomach unlike anything he’d felt before. It was as though someone was rolling his stomach out like pizza dough. It was intense, but it only lasted a few moments.

              Instead of walking into the kitchen, Arthur went into his bedroom to inspect the damage done to his body. He could vaguely hear Eames whistling as the shower shut off and smiled to himself despite the lingering pain in his stomach. He walked over to the mirror across from his bed and started to undo the buttons on his shirt when the bathroom door opened.

              Arthur glanced over to where Eames was standing with just a towel wrapped low around his waist. The temperature in the room rose five degrees, or maybe that was just Arthur.

              Eames smirked and said, “Don’t mind me, love. I seem to have left my bag in your kitchen.”

              But how could Arthur _not_ mind him when he was standing right there, still dripping wet and so fucking beautifully tattooed? Arthur’s eyes followed Eames all the way back out to the kitchen where he got his bag and walked back into Arthur’s room. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had seen Eames in a towel. He’d seen him in less. It had been so long, and Arthur didn’t realize how much he’d missed seeing Eames like this.

              “Now, Arthur, didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” Eames scolded.

              “One of these days, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Arthur muttered.

              “It’s okay to admit you missed me, you know,” Eames said, walking back into the bathroom.

              Arthur just rolled his eyes and finished the buttons on his shirt, taking it off with minimal pain. What he saw in the mirror, though, was concerning, to say the least. Patches of blues and purples patterned his skin, streaks of red were slashed across his torso and chest, but the worst of all was right under his ribs on the left side. A large mix of green and red and black proved to be the definition of ugly.

              The bathroom door opened again. “Do you,-“ Eames started before cutting himself off. “Fucking Christ, darling.” Arthur turned towards a now fully clothed Eames, and when Eames caught sight of the shitfest that was Arthur’s left side, he almost lost it. “You blithering _idiot_ ,” he said, all playfulness gone from his voice. “What did you let them do to you?”

              “It’s not like I willingly stood there and let them torture me,” Arthur said, grabbing for his shirt.

              Eames grabbed Arthur’s arm to stop him. “No, no let me see you properly. Jesus, they tortured you? No more telling me not to worry about you; this is something that someone should worry about.” Eames’ hands traveled carefully down Arthur’s torso, not even bothering to trail across his left side. “God. Alright, here’s what is going to happen: I’m going to find something cold to cover whatever the fuck that is,” he said, looking at Arthur’s ribs. “And then I’ll make dinner while you tell me what happened.”

              Arthur wasn’t even close to being hungry, but he nodded his head anyway and followed Eames back out to the kitchen.

              “Sit,” Eames commanded, pointing at the barstool Arthur vacated not ten minutes ago.

              Arthur sat while Eames dug through his freezer, finally coming up with a frozen bag of corn that Arthur didn’t even knew he owned. Eames tossed the bag onto the counter, and Arthur gingerly pressed it to his ribs on his left side, feeling excruciating pain and relief all at the same time.

              Eames started to go through Arthur’s fridge. “Okay, talk,” he said.

              Arthur sighed. “I took a job for Cobb in Hamburg about two weeks ago. As far as extractions go, it was supposed to be simple.”

              “Ah, but they never are, are they?” Eames questioned.

              “Apparently not,” Arthur continued. “Usually, Cobb gives me a larger window to manage everything, but he’s been taking more and more jobs lately. I know wants to get back to his kids, but this was a stretch, even for him, considering who was the forger on the job.”

              “Who was it?”

              Arthur adjusted the bag of corn and grimaced. “Flynn.”

              Eames turned around so quickly he almost bumped his head on the fridge. “You were moronic enough to take a job with that twit? Cobb was moronic enough to _hire_ him? Jesus Christ, next time just call me, darling. I’m better going in completely blind than he is completely prepared.”

              “I know, I know, I just – I did it for Cobb. He’s been having a hard time ever since Mal, well you know.”

              Arthur could almost see the whites of Eames’ knuckles gripping the counter. The lines on his face went hard. “ _You’ve_ been having a hard time ever since Mal died, ever think about that?” he argued. “You can’t even admit to yourself that she’s gone.”

              “Are you done lecturing me?” Arthur asked.

              “Please tell me that Flynn is not the reason that you look like that.”

              Arthur sighed. “He can’t forge for shit,” he said, giving Eames the wrong answer. “He lost it within the first five minutes, and the projections were on us. The architect, Dupree, and I tried to fight them off while Cobb searched for the information, but he never got it.”

              Eames never took his eyes off of Arthur when asking, “What about Flynn?”

              “If I tell you, will you promise not to go off and disembowel anyone?” Arthur asked.

              “Arthur,” Eames warned.

              “Flynn…,” Arthur hesitated. “Flynn shot himself before the projections could get to him.”

              Arthur could tell that Eames was doing his best not to completely combust. The redness in his face was clear evidence of that.

              “Son of a bitch,” Eames muttered. “He’s the reason you look like that.”

              Arthur decided not to feed into Eames’ anger and ignored him. “Once we woke up, we tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. Cobb was up in arms about not finishing the job, but we couldn’t go back under. We split up, but the corporation we were working for had eyes everywhere, and I didn’t even make it out of the city.”

              “How did you make it out alive?” Eames asked.

              Arthur smiled at that. “Let’s just say I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.”

              “I will see to it that Flynn never forges again, that’s a promise to you, darling. And if I ever see Cobb again, there will be hell to pay for throwing you to the wolves and having no ounce of respect for anyone but himself.”

              “I appreciate your concern, Eames,” Arthur said, fighting a wave of pain crashing in his stomach. “but I just kind of want to forget about it.”

              “Are you sure you’re alright?” Eames asked, concern laced with every word. “Because if you’re not and wind up dead, I will never let you hear the end of it.”

              The more time that had passed, the worse Arthur felt. His side felt worse, his head felt worse, and everything was just foggy.

              He got off the barstool. “I think I need to go sleep this off. I’m sorry, I know you wanted to make dinner.”

              Eames waved him off. “Don’t be concerned with that. You don’t have much anyway, so I’ll just order in. Get some rest.”

              Arthur nodded in agreement. He dropped the bag of corn on the nightstand next to his bed and went to the bathroom to get more painkillers. He took four more, promised himself he’d be better in the morning, ready to work again, stripped down to his boxers, closed his door, and got into bed, laying on his right side.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              The sleep Artur wanted so badly didn’t come. The pain grew to the point where he couldn’t even breathe normally. Nothing helped. Arthur even tried the fucking corn again, to no avail.

              At some point, he heard the door to his room open. Then there was the sound of Eames clearly stripping down, the sound of him throwing clothes on a nearby chair as though the apartment was his own, and then the weight of his body next to Arthur in bed as though Arthur was his own. Eames didn’t wrap his arms around Arthur, thank god, but he did place a few kisses to his back.

              “You’ve never had any problem sleeping on my couches before,” Arthur said.

              Eames chuckled softly. “We do normally end up in bed, though, don’t we? I figured I’d give us a head start.” He paused for a second. “Although, I really just wanted to keep an eye on you. Sorry if I woke you.”

              “I haven’t been able to sleep yet,” Arthur admitted.

              “Anything you need?” Eames asked, absentmindedly tracing circles on Arthur’s back.

              This was unlike anything Arthur and Eames had done before. Never had they slept in a bed without having sex first, never had Eames been so affectionate and caring, and never had Arthur felt so close to someone.

              “Just you being here is good enough.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Arthur woke up in the middle of the night and barely made it to the bathroom before heaving into the toilet. Right away, he knew something was seriously wrong. There was a metallic taste left in his mouth, and the pain in his stomach was so excruciating that he actually cried out.

              He settled himself against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Everything was spinning. He felt weak, so weak. Within seconds, Arthur was back on his hands and knees in front of the toilet, coughing and retching.

              “Oh, darling,” he faintly heard Eames say from the bathroom entrance.

              As Arthur finished his second round of vomiting, he reached up to flush the toilet, the metallic taste only growing stronger in his mouth. He felt Eames’ warm hand on his back, which felt like heaven considering how cold he was in comparison. Arthur sat back against the wall and could faintly make out Eames’ shape squatting down next to him in the darkness of the bathroom.

              “Is it your side?” Eames asked.

              Arthur took a couple of painful breaths. “Hurts so much,” he got out, closing his eyes.

              “I know, love, I know,” Eames said, placing a hand on Arthur’s forehead. “Christ, you’re burning up. I’m going to get you a blanket, alright?”

              The next time Arthur opened his eyes, there was faint light from his bedroom streaming into the bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make out the dark red streak on his hand from where he wiped his mouth.

              It was unmistakably blood. The metallic taste in Arthur’s mouth started to make more sense.   

              “Shit,” Arthur muttered.

              “What is it?” Eames asked, walking back into the bathroom with a blanket in his arms.

              “I think I coughed up blood,” Arthur explained, trying not to panic. “A lot of it.”

              Eames helped Arthur sit up so he could wrap the blanket around him. “Well, that settles it then. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

              “No,” Arthur protested too loudly and with too much force for his left side to handle, and he cried out in pain.

              “You don’t get to argue with me on this,” Eames said with a shaky voice. The look on his face was filled with so much fear and concern that it actually scared and concerned Arthur. “You have an alias, I presume?”

              “David Kean,” Arthur responded, feeling light-headed.

              “And your car keys?”

              “Next to the coffee machine.”

              Eames leaned in and kissed Arthur’s forehead. “Let me help you up, yeah?”

              Arthur held out both of his hands and gratefully let Eames help him up, fiery knives shooting through his left side. Eames grabbed the blanket that had fallen to the floor and rewrapped it around Arthur’s shoulders.

              “I can walk,” Arthur said when Eames tried to put his arm around him.

              But Arthur’s legs were too wobbly, too much like jelly, and his vision was clouded. He almost ended up right back on the floor, but Eames was there to catch him.

              “I’ve got you,” Eames said, holding Arthur up. “Just grab onto the blanket, that’s a love.”

              Arthur started to fade quickly after that. All of a sudden, he was sitting down again. On the bed maybe? Eames kept telling Arthur to keep his eyes open, keep talking to him, keep doing anything. Arthur could hear the desperation in his voice, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe and keep his eyes open at the same time.

              Eventually, Arthur let himself become shrouded in darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wakes up in the hospital, and Eames makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be much longer, but I decided to split everything into four parts instead of three so I can upload each part quicker! Thank you for reading!

              “Well, well, look who’s finally waking up,” Eames was saying as Arthur regained consciousness. “You stupid, wonderful, _stupid_ human.”

              Arthur looked around the room he was in, recognizing that he was lying in a hospital bed but not quite remembering why. His eyes finally settled on Eames who was sitting right next to the bed looking like absolute shit.

              “Do you know where you are?” Eames asked with tired eyes.

              Arthur swallowed the dryness in his mouth. “Hospital.”

              Eames nodded. “And do you remember how you got here?”

              If he thought hard enough, he probably could. He was on a job with Cobb that ended badly, and then he was back at his apartment in Copenhagen. Eames showed up, and then- and then what? Why couldn’t he remember anything else?

              He was still dreaming. He had to be.

              Eames must have noticed the panic written all over Arthur’s face. “Oh shit, I guess I worded that wrongly, didn’t I? Darling-,”

              “Eames, where are my clothes?” Arthur asked pointedly. “I need my totem.”

              If he was dreaming, he needed to know. He needed to know so he could kick himself the hell out.

              “You came here in nothing but your boxers, love. I don’t think you had your totem with you.” And of course, Eames didn’t have it, because that would defeat the whole purpose of a totem. “You need to take it easy. The doctor said-,”

              “I need my gun, then,” Arthur said, in a full on panic.

              Eames’ eyes widened. “Like hell you do.”

              Arthur started frantically looking around the room, searching for something, anything, to kick himself out of the dream. When he pushed himself up into a seated position and white-hot searing pain shot through his side, he still didn’t stop looking.

              “Arthur, if those nurses out there hear you talking about needing a gun, they will put you on a psych hold, and trust me, you do not want that. _Arthur_ ,” Eames repeated, much more demanding and serious. “Look at me.”

              Arthur turned his head to look at Eames and was met with the face of a desperate, tired, beautiful man.

              “This is real,” Eames continued. “Trust me, I’ve checked my totem dozens of times over the last twelve hours. I wish I could give you yours, but until we get you back to the apartment, you’re just going to have to trust me. Please.”

              Arthur let out a breath and settled back down, now completely aware of the pain in his side.

              “Okay,” he said, still a little on edge. “Okay, I trust you.”

              Eames stood up. “I’m going to get a nurse to check on you since you probably just ripped out all the stitches in your side.”

              Arthur reached over and grabbed Eames’ wrist. “Wait. Can you tell me what happened first?”

              “What do you remember?” Eames asked, sitting back down.

              Before he responded, Arthur couldn’t help but look at Eames. He looked like he hadn’t slept since Arthur arrived in the hospital, and the way his knees had cracked when he stood up told Arthur he probably hadn’t moved, either. His face showed concern, something Arthur didn’t remember ever seeing in his face before.

              “Are you alright?” Eames asked, snapping Arthur from his trance.

              “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I have a vague, tragic memory of a horrible British accent impression and terrible pain. I also remember being in bed with you. You drugged me, didn’t you?”

              Eames chuckled. “I don’t have to drug you to get you into bed, pet. You must’ve been really out if it if that’s all you remember. Right, well you started throwing up blood. You weren’t well at all, so I tried to get you up to take you here, but you weren’t having any of that. You passed out, and I called an ambulance. Turns out, those men who tortured you ruptured your spleen, and you were bleeding internally. Your surgeon, brilliant man he is, was able to save it. And here we are now.”

              Arthur tried to keep his breathing even as the foggy memories started to resurface. He remembered Eames standing in his room with just a towel on. He remembered the feeling of Eames’ careful hands taking note of every bruise and cut on his body. He remembered Eames doing everything in his power to take care of him.

              “Wow, I- um, thank you, Eames,” he said at a loss for words. “I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

              “Let’s not,” Eames said. Arthur knew then that those ‘what if’ situations were all Eames had been thinking about. “I’m just glad I was there.” Eames stood up again. “I’m going to get someone to check on you. Just remember: your name is David Kean, and you were in a nasty bar fight.”

              Arthur watched Eames leave the room, feeling incredibly grateful for the guy he knew he was falling in love with.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Eames returned a few minutes later with a doctor trailing behind him, clipboard in hand.

              “David, it’s good to see you’re awake,” he said. “My name is Dr. Christensen. I’ll be taking care of you.”

              Arthur reached out and shook his hand. “Good to meet you. How long do you think it’ll be until I can go home?”

              Dr. Christensen paged through Arthur’s chart before responding. “Well, if things continue to go smoothly, it shouldn’t be more than two days. We just want to make sure there aren’t any post-op complications. I’m just going to take a quick look at the incision and check that it’s healing properly.”

              Dr. Christensen put on a pair of gloves, and Arthur looked over and Eames who gave him a small smile.

              “So it was pretty nasty?” Arthur asked the doctor.

              Dr. Christensen’s face told Arthur that he didn’t want to go too much into detail with him. “You’re very lucky to have had your friend right there.” He glanced at Eames. “He’s very tenacious, but anyone here could tell you that after what he did to that ambulance driver.”

              Arthur looked at Eames. “What did you do?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

              “He didn’t drive fast enough,” Eames answered sheepishly.

              Dr. Christensen checked the dressings on Arthur’s spleen. “Knocked him unconscious,” he explained. “After you’d gotten into the hospital safely, of course.”

              Arthur didn’t know whether to be pissed off at Eames or to be thanking him profusely for how protective he was being.

              “Is he okay at least?” Arthur decided on asking.

              Dr. Christensen pulled the blankets back up on Arthur. “Just a broken nose, nothing major. Alright, this all looks good. I’ll get a nurse to come in and give you some more pain meds, and I’ll be back in the morning.”

              “Thank you,” Arthur said as Dr. Christensen walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

              Any of the anger Arthur had for Eames at that point completely faded when he saw that Eames had his head in his hands.

              Arthur reached over and squeezed Eames’ shoulder. “You okay?”

              Eames picked his head up. His eyes were red, but he still smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright. I think I finally understand your need to be in control all the time.”

              “I’m not following you,” Arthur said, confused.

              “Usually, I just, you know, improvise and let things happen as they happen,” Eames continued. “And then this fucking happened. I was fine at first, while you were still conscious. I thought I could handle it myself. I’d go one hundred miles an hour, run a few stop signs, whatever it took. When you passed out, everything changed. I wasn’t in control anymore, and I couldn’t do anything to help you. I had to just sit there and wait for the ambulance. I thought you were dying for fucks sake-,”

              Arthur cut him off. “Hey, I’m right here. What was that line you used before? I think it might’ve been ‘I’m too bloody stubborn to die.’” Is that it?”

              “Yeah, yeah, alright. I get it. It just…,” he trailed off.

              “I know,” Arthur said. “Why don’t you head back to the apartment and get some actual sleep? I’m fine here.”

              Eames shook his head and settled back in the chair. “Not a chance, darling. I’m not leaving your side until you’re better. However long it takes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needs to find a new way to thank Eames, and shit hits the fan.

              A week later, Arthur could barely get around on his own, but thankfully, he was in his own apartment, and Eames was still there. It wasn’t that Arthur thought Eames was lying when he said he wouldn’t leave his side. He just didn’t expect Eames to be as helpful and caring as he had been.

              “Something’s come up.” Eames was on the phone when Arthur woke up one morning. “I need to stay in Copenhagen a while longer, and I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to kill to make it happen. Just make it happen.”

              Eames hung up on whoever he was talking to as Arthur intertwined his hands behind his head, feeling a little less pain in his side. Eames was standing in the doorway of Arthur’s – more like _their_ – bedroom. Arthur noticed that he was still wearing the same clothes from the day before.

              “What’s going on?” Arthur asked groggily.

              Eames sighed. “The team I was working with here on my last job found out that I’m still in the city, and they’re quite livid if I’m honest. I told them all to fuck off. I mean, honestly, the fucking nerve of them to tell me how to handle business. I’ve been doing this longer than any of them, and-,”

              “Hey.” Arthur cut him off before he got even angrier. “They just want to cover their own asses and make sure they won’t be connected to you if you get caught, you know that.”

              Eames pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know.”

              “Who were you on the phone with just now?”

              “A friend of mine,” Eames said. “I asked him to keep an eye on things and make sure I can stay here a while.”

              Arthur looked over to Eames’ side of the bed and saw it looking positively unslept in.

              “You didn’t sleep last night?” Arthur asked.

              Eames answered by walking over to the bed and belly flopping onto it. “I was too busy doing damage control.”

              They were quiet for a while after that. Eames shut his eyes, and Arthur watched his back rise and fall.

              Before he could stop himself, he said, “Listen, Eames, you’re risking your life to be here, and I’d rather you be safe and far away than here and dead.”

              Eames smiled but kept his eyes shut, and Arthur wondered if he’d ever seen something quite like it. “Is this a nice way of telling me that you’re kicking me out, darling?”

              Arthur’s eyes widened, and his stomach lurched. “No, no, definitely not. I just-,”

              Eames opened his eyes and chuckled. “Easy there, I’m kidding. We can talk about my potentially self-destructive decisions later. Just go back to sleep with me for now, hmm?”

              How could Arthur turn that down? It was scary how quickly he was falling for someone he never thought he’d catch feelings for. He didn’t want to think about everything that could go wrong because he and Eames both knew that more could go wrong than right. Instead, Arthur uncrossed his hands from behind his head and let Eames wrap his arms around him, feeling as though he was right where he should be.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Cobb started calling Arthur three weeks after his surgery. By the fourth week, Arthur decided to finally pick up the phone, much to Eames’ dissatisfaction. To be fair, Arthur did decide to answer his phone in the middle of giving Eames a blowjob.

              “He’s been calling for a week straight, and you decide to answer now,” Eames grumbled as Arthur grabbed his phone off of the nightstand.

              “I’ll be quick, I promise,” Arthur said before answering. “Hey, Cobb.”

              “Where the hell have you been?” Cobb asked angrily. “I’ve been calling you for a week.”

              “I’m aware,” Arthur said. “Look, I’m not taking any jobs right now. My spleen ruptured after the job in Hamburg, and I’m trying to lay off for a while.”

              “Jesus, Arthur, why didn’t you tell me?”

              Arthur sighed. “I didn’t want to worry you. It’s fine, though, Eames was here. Well, he still is.”

              Arthur offered Eames a small smile, but Eames just rolled his eyes and continued pouting.

              “Eames?” Cobb asked, clearly surprised. “Eames as in the forger? As in one of the most unpredictable, flirtatious, and egotistical people I’ve ever met?”

              “Yes, that one,” Arthur said in a low voice, walking out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

              “The job in Hamburg was almost a month ago,” Cobb pointed out. “Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t just hooking up with him anymore?”

              The last thing Arthur wanted was a lecture from Cobb, especially when there was a naked and waiting Eames in his bedroom.

              “I’ll call you when I’m ready to take a new job,” Arthur said, dodging Cobb’s question.   

              “Fine, but do me a favor? Don’t let him break your heart.”

              “I don’t plan on it,” Arthur said before hanging up.

              He set his phone down on the counter, internally vowing to never answer it again, and walked back into his bedroom to find Eames in the same place he’d left him, all needy and hot and bothered.

              “Now, what in the world was so important?” Eames asked.

              Arthur didn’t answer. He took off the t-shirt he was wearing, which just so happened to be Eames’, and he climbed onto the bed where he pressed his lips to the forger’s. Eames grabbed on to the back of Arthur’s neck and pulled him closer. Arthur ended up on his back with Eames placing kisses to his neck, lightly biting at Arthur’s skin.

              “You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Eames said, taking a break from kissing Arthur as he reached to pull down Arthur’s boxers.

              Arthur cleared his throat. “Quick question: does sex count as strenuous physical activity?” he asked, remembering that he couldn’t do any of that for another three weeks.

              Eames chuckled lightly. “With us? Yes, it usually does, but we don’t have to have sex for me to be able to take care of you.” He kissed his way up Arthur’s torso. “Will you let me take care of you, darling? Let me make you feel good?”

              Arthur couldn’t breathe. His senses were heightened, and every time Eames moved his hands to a different place on Arthur’s body, it felt like tiny electrical pulses.

              “I will let you do whatever you want to me,” Arthur answered.

              Eames brushed his lips against Arthur’s teasingly, and all Arthur wanted was more.

              “I do have one condition, though,” Eames said. “If you ever answer your phone while sucking me off again, I get to shoot it with your gun until it’s unrecognizable.”

              “Fair enough.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Three weeks later, Arthur was finally strong enough to be on his feet all day, so he spent that day shopping for Eames. He had only been able to thank Eames for basically saving his life through blowjobs, and he wanted to do something more. After spending a good four hours trying to find the perfect thing, Arthur settled on the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find and a dozen of Eames’ favorite donuts from the bakery down the street from his apartment.

              Maybe he wasn’t trying to thank Eames as much as he was trying to show his appreciation for Eames still being there. He was trying to tell Eames he loved him without actually saying it because he was too damn scared to actually say it.

              Arthur loved Eames. A lot.

              Eames had to feel something for Arthur, too, right? It wasn’t as though Arthur was still actively bleeding internally. Eames could leave anytime he wanted to. But he hadn’t. That had to mean something.

              Arthur had to knock on his apartment door when he returned because his hands were too full to reach into his pocket for the keys.

              “Arthur, if it’s you, darling, the door is open,” he heard Eames call from inside. “If it’s not Arthur, then you can fuck off.”

              Arthur set the box of donuts on the ground so he could open the door, wondering how Eames could’ve been so stupid to leave the apartment unlocked when their jobs warranted unexpected, armed visitors at any given time.

              Eames was in the kitchen, and Arthur held out the vase to him as he still held open the door with his other hand.

              “What’s all this?” Eames asked, taking the flowers from Arthur. “Christ, did you buy out an entire garden shop?”

              Arthur went back into the hallway to grab the donuts, and when Eames saw the box, his face lit up.

              “You didn’t,” he said. “Are those what I think they are?”

              Arthur opened the box to reveal twelve perfect, chocolate-covered pieces of heaven, according to Eames. “Yes, they are,” Arthur responded.

              Eames looked from the flowers in his hand to the box in Arthur’s. “Am I missing something? Is it my birthday?”

              Arthur laughed, closing the box and setting it down on the counter. “I just wanted to say thank you,” he explained. “Again.”

              “I don’t know why you feel like you need to keep thanking me,” Eames said. “Although, I greatly appreciate the gesture.” There was sincerity in his voice, but Arthur noticed that he looked distracted, like his mind was somewhere else. Eames set the vase down on the counter. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

              Whatever that “something” was had to be bad because Eames looked like he was in actual pain over the thought of having to talk to Arthur about it. Needless to say, Arthur was nervous.

              “Is everything okay?” Arthur asked, sitting on a barstool.

              “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” Eames responded, sounding just as nervous as Arthur felt. “I just- um, while you were out, I got a call from that friend of mine who’s been making sure it’s safe for me to stay here. It seems as though that favor has run out, and now it’s my turn to repay him. He needs me on a job in Mombasa.” Then, Eames says the words that Arthur expected to hear a month ago but dreaded all the same. “I have to leave.”

              Arthur tried not to show the emotion that was bubbling up inside of him. “Weren’t you in Mombasa a few years ago? Are you even allowed back after the casino incident?”

              Eames smiled. “Always keeping tabs on me, aren’t you, love? Anyway, that was years ago, I’m sure they’ve forgotten me by now.”

              “Unlikely. You’re a hard person to forget, Mr. Eames. When do you leave?”

              The smile on Eames’ face faded. “A week from today.”

              Arthur needed to understand why Eames was so upset about this. It was just a job, but he was acting as if he was headed off to war.

              “What has you so torn up about this?” Arthur asked. “Is the job high stakes?”

              “No, it should be quite routine. The problem is that I have to leave here. Leave you.”

              Arthur thought he might die right there. Finally, Eames admitted something to him, something he never expected to hear, and Eames had to fucking leave.

              “I’m surprised I kept you away for this long.”

              Eames shrugged. “I wish it could be longer.”

              Silence fell over Arthur and Eames, and Arthur watched as the pained look on Eames’ face deepened.

              “What else is on your mind?” Arthur asked quietly, wanting nothing more than to make all of that pain go away.

              Eames chuckled lightly. “Maybe it has been too long. I think you know me too well, darling.”

              “Eames,” Arthur pressed, and he swore he saw something in Eames break.

              “My mum died last year. It wasn’t really a big surprise, she’d been sick for a while. She had dementia, couldn’t even tell you her own name, let alone mine.”

              Arthur remembered. He remembered because it was the only time Eames had ever turned down working a job with him. He knew something was wrong, but he never asked because he was too busy being selfishly pissed off that Eames turned down a job he was desperately needed on.

              “God, Eames, I’m sorry.” Arthur wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing for Eames’ mother’s death, or for never asking.

              “You couldn’t have known,” Eames answered. “It’s got me thinking recently, though. I don’t want to end up like her. I don’t want to forget how to forge. I don’t want to forget how to drive a car. I don’t want to forget _this_ ,” he said, gesturing between him and Arthur. “Because she did, Arthur. She forgot everything.”

              The sadness in Eames’ voice made Arthur want to kill someone.

              “Eames,” he said sternly. “You’re not going to forget this.”

              Eames’ eyes were red when he looked at Arthur. “You don’t know that for sure.”

              Arthur nodded. “As long as I live, I will make sure you won’t forget this. Or anything else.”

              Eames squeezed his eyes shut at that, like he couldn’t bear to look at Arthur, which confused Arthur more than anything. When he opened his eyes again, they were cold and piercing.

              “I, um, need some air,” Eames choked out.

              Before Arthur could stop him, Eames was out the door, leaving Arthur wondering what the hell just happened.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Eames wouldn’t answer his phone. Arthur had tried numerous times over the period of three hours that he’d been gone. He didn’t understand what he did wrong. Eames had to have just been pissed off about the job in Mombasa. Arthur waited on the couch for Eames to come back for another hour before the lock on his apartment door clicked open.

              Eames wasn’t drunk like Arthur thought he might be, but he was a very different Eames than when he left.

              “You okay?” Arthur asked cautiously, getting off of the couch.

              “Fine,” Eames said with a smile that was clearly fake. “I think I’ll take the couch tonight if that’s alright with you,” he said as though nothing had happened. “There’s just some preliminary work I have to do for this forge, and I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

              Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. “Of course, yeah.”

              He fought the urge to ask Eames if he was okay again because he didn’t want to push Eames further than he already had, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wonder. Arthur had a sick feeling in his stomach that would stay with him until he went to bed that night, Eames’ empty side of the bed being an elephant in the room that Arthur didn’t want to touch.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              It was like that for two days. Arthur felt like he was walking on pins and needles whenever he was around Eames. Eames immersed himself in work all day and all night, something Arthur had never witnessed before. Eames reminded Arthur of himself, and that scared Arthur. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and barely even looked at Arthur.

              The third morning after Eames told Arthur about his mom and the job in Mombasa, Arthur woke up alone in his bed again. This time, though, the apartment was eerily quiet. There was no sound of Eames clicking away on his laptop, no sound of ruffing papers, not even sounds of Eames’ soft snoring.

              Arthur sat up quickly and took in his room. Eames’ shoes were gone from beside the bedroom door. His shirts had been removed from the back of the chair he threw them on every night before crawling into bed next to Arthur. Arthur got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to find that Eames’ toothbrush was gone from the holder and all of his other things were gone as well. Arthur’s heart jumped into his throat when he walked out of his bedroom and saw that Eames’ computer and stacks of notes were also missing.

             Then, he saw the note sitting on the kitchen counter.

_Arthur,_

_I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I’m needed in Mombasa sooner than I thought. I shouldn’t be longer than a few weeks. Don’t feel like you have to wait in Copenhagen for me, but that’s where I’ll look for you first. Take a job if you want. I’m sure Cobb is pulling his hair out without you. I’ll find you wherever you are._

_Eames_

_P.S. I’ve been advised not to communicate with anyone while working the job so as to not draw attention to the whole thing or to be tracked. I’ll find you when it’s all over._

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Arthur was fine the first week after Eames left. Even though Eames was physically gone, there were still parts of him in the apartment. Arthur could still smell him on his bed sheets, on some of his clothes. Fine was where the line was drawn on happy emotions, though, if you could even call it a happy one.

              Arthur was pissed that Eames left without a proper goodbye. He was frustrated that he couldn’t call Eames and ask him what the fuck was going on with him before he left. He was pissed and frustrated at himself for not telling Eames he loved him before he left.

              Arthur knew how these jobs went. If the slightest thing went wrong, Eames would have to make himself disappear for weeks or months. But Arthur had to trust that Eames would come back. He had to trust him because the alternative was too hard to confront.

              Eventually, after another two weeks, it was getting hard for Arthur to be in his apartment without going crazy. He couldn’t stop worrying what was happening with Eames, and he hated it because he’d never felt that way before about another person. He’d done some digging and found that Eames was still in Mombasa, so maybe something had gone wrong with the job. Maybe he was hurt or in some sketchy prison.

It was clear that Arthur needed to take his mind off of Eames in any way he could, so he took Eames’ advice and called Cobb.

              “What did Eames do?” Was the first thing Cobb said to Arthur.

              Arthur frowned. “Didn’t I say I’d call you when I wanted in on another job? Why do you assume Eames did something?”

              “Because it took you this long to call me,” Cobb responded.

              “He’s on a job in Mombasa, and I’m going fucking insane because I can’t see him or talk to him. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

              Cobb laughed. “I’m in Lima. Catch a flight soon, and you should be able to make it.”

              Arthur let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll book the next flight out of here. Thanks, Cobb.”

              “And Arthur? You might want to take a detour in Mombasa. It might be a while before you’re able to contact the outside world. Tell Eames how you really feel and then get your ass over here.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Arthur wasn’t nervous until he saw the look on Eames’ face when Eames opened the door of his place in Mombasa. It wasn’t a look of surprise like Arthur had wanted or expected. It was more like a look of horror.

              “Arthur?” Eames questioned, voice low. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

              Arthur dropped his bag to the floor and chuckled. “Come on, Eames, don’t act so happy to see me,” he said sarcastically.

              He hugged Eames, but Eames didn’t reciprocate. That same look of dread was still written on his face when Arthur pulled away from him.

             “What are you doing here?” Eames repeated.

             Arthur raised his eyebrow, a little concerned that Eames hadn’t whisked him away to the bedroom already.

             “I took a job in Lima with Cobb,” Arthur explained. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I headed there, and since I couldn’t contact you over the phone, I decided to show up here.”

             The more Arthur talked, the more he wondered whether he was making a big mistake. He went to move past Eames and into the apartment, but Eames blocked the door frame and didn’t let him through. It was then that Arthur finally noticed Eames’ appearance. He had on a wrinkled shirt like he’d picked it off a pile on the floor in a hurry, and his pants weren’t even buttoned correctly. To say that Eames looked disheveled was an understatement.

             The problem was that Arthur had seen this look of dishevelment before. Too many times to count. Eames was hiding something, he was being way too quiet.

             “What’s going on?” Arthur asked, tone turning serious.

              Eames ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Um, now’s not really a good time, Arthur,” he said quietly, almost regretful.

              Arthur’s eyes widened. He knew he should’ve trusted that feeling he’d been experiencing for weeks, the one he kept shoving down and repressing, the feeling that Eames was never coming back to him. Because it was true. It was always true, and Arthur didn’t want to believe it, but he didn’t have a choice now.

              He just didn’t think Eames would find someone else so quickly.

             “There’s someone else here, isn’t there?” Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

              Eames’ face softened. “Darling, I-,”

              “Just answer the damn question, Eames.”

              “Yes, there’s someone else.”

              And then Eames just stood there. There was no further explanation, no “I’m sorry, Arthur”, no “forgive me, Arthur”, no “I’m a fucking idiot, Arthur”, nothing. Eames said nothing.

              There was a man standing in front of Arthur, a man he didn’t know. The man looked familiar and smelled familiar. Arthur thought that he might have loved this man once, but he still didn’t recognize him, because the man who stood in front of him was not _his_ Eames. _Arthur’s_ Eames wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him.

              “I guess I should’ve just let you forget me,” Arthur said before picking up his bag and walking away.

              It was easier to walk away pretending as though he didn’t know Eames at all, but the second Arthur got back outside in the Mombasa heat, he wondered if the Eames he actually did know really ever existed.

              Arthur didn’t allow himself to cry. He didn’t allow himself to be angry. It was his fault anyway, his fault for trusting Eames and for not listening to Cobb. It was his fault for not telling Eames how he felt. The tsunami wave of self-hatred would come later, on the plane to Lima, where Arthur would let down his guard and allow himself to feel every sickening emotion possible.

 

 

             

             

 

 

               

             

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor Arthur :( For some reason, this part was so damn hard to write. Sorry if it felt like things were jumping around too much. The next, and final, part will be much more cohesive. Thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inception brings Arthur and Eames back together, but it's not all unicorns and gumdrops.

              “Where are you gonna be?” Arthur asked Cobb.

              “I gotta go visit Eames,” Cobb answered.

              Eames. It was the first time Arthur heard that name since he last saw Eames almost three months ago. Of course, it wasn’t as though Arthur hadn’t thought about him. There rarely was a day that went by without the thought of Eames keeping him up at night. He had to figure that sooner or later, Cobb was going to want Eames in on inception. There wasn’t anyone else better suited for it. Arthur knew that. He had just neglected to mention it.

              “Eames? No, he’s in Mombasa.” Just because Arthur never wanted to see Eames again didn’t mean he still wasn’t keeping tabs on him. The last time Eames went months without taking a new job was when he was with Arthur in Copenhagen. It told Arthur that he really had found someone else. “It’s Cobol’s backyard.”

              It was a weak effort on Arthur’s part to get Cobb to stay. Cobb wanted Eames, and he was going to get him no matter how dangerous it was.

              “Necessary risk,” Cobb countered.

              “There’s plenty of good thieves.”

              Cobb put on his jacket. “We don’t just need a thief. We need a forger. Listen, Arthur, you guys are going to have to put aside whatever happened between you two and learn to work together.” Arthur never told Cobb about what happened when he went to visit Eames in Mombasa. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. “There’s too much riding on this job.”

              And that was that.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Arthur spent all of his days and nights in the warehouse working himself to death so that he didn’t have to think about Eames.

              It wasn’t working.

              How dare Eames come back and pretend like nothing ever happened between them? He was his usual cocky and sarcastic self. Something that Arthur used to love was the thing he now hated the most. If this job wasn’t so important, Arthur wouldn’t just be working himself to death. He’d be drinking himself to death, too.

              But that wasn’t exactly an option, considering the flight was tomorrow, and there was still so much work to be done. There was never enough research Arthur could do on a subject, especially on Fischer. He couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake.

              He was sitting in the warehouse, bags packed, working on last minute updates to the plan when he heard someone clear their voice behind him. Startled, he turned around and saw Eames standing there.

              Arthur all but rolled his eyes and turned back around, continuing to write in a notebook. “What can I do for you, Mr. Eames?”

              “Talk to me,” Eames said simply.

              Arthur stopped writing mid-word and turned back around. Eames was wearing a loud, patterned silk shirt with gray-colored pants. You know, the usual. His eyes, however, told the story of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Arthur didn’t know what to make of that.

              “About what?” he questioned.

              Eames pulled up a chair and turned it around, straddling it as he sat down. “About what happened in Mombasa.”

              “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Arthur stubbornly said.

              Eames scoffed. “Right. Okay, cut the bullshit, Arthur, you’re not fooling anyone. If you have something to get off your chest, get on with it before you hear what I have to say.”

              Arthur sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He thought it would be so easy to lean forward a little more and kiss Eames, forgiving him for what he did. The more he thought about Mombasa, the angrier he got, and the more he wanted to punch Eames instead.

              “I can’t believe you took this job,” Arthur said, not fully telling the truth.

              Eames laughed. “What- and turn down the chance to say that we performed inception? Maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought you did, pet.”

              Arthur continued on as if Eames hadn’t answered him. “I can’t believe you came here and pretended like nothing happened.”

              He could see a hint of anger in Eames’ tired face. “What did you want me to do, hmm?” Eames asked. “Did you want me to waltz in here and apologize? Get down on my knees and beg you for forgiveness? Is that what you wanted?”

              “I wanted you to come back to Copenhagen like you said you were going to.”

              Silence hung in the air for what felt like forever before Eames responded. “Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? You and I had just been fooling around. I didn’t realize we were attached.”

              That was the final straw. Even Arthur could tell that Eames didn’t believe that, and it just made him angrier.

              He stood up. “Dammit, Eames, we weren’t just fooling around!” he yelled, voice echoing. “If we were ‘just fooling around’, you would’ve left after two days like you normally do, but you didn’t. You stayed for two months, and you would’ve stayed longer if it weren’t for the job in Mombasa.”

              Arthur could see the tension in Eames’ jaw. “I stayed because you couldn’t get around by yourself for half that time. Was I supposed to just leave you like that?”

              “That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it. What about that time in Kiev? We basically fucked for two days straight, and the second we stepped outside, we were ambushed by _your_ tail that _you_ were supposed to get rid of. I got shot, and when you made sure I wasn’t going to die, you left three days later. So don’t sit there and tell me you stayed because of my fucked up spleen.”

              Arthur was met with no response.

              “I believed you,” Arthur continued. “I guess that was naïve of me. The thought of you not coming back never crossed my mind. I thought there were complications with the job or that you’d gotten hurt. I never thought you would lie to me, never thought you were capable of it.”

              Eames stood up then, too, his face red with anger. “Arthur, I lie for a living! If you can’t understand that, then that’s your problem, not mine.”

              “ _My_ problem? You’ve been spouting out all of this shit about my ‘condescension’, acting like everything is my fault, when you’re the one who lied. You’re the one who fucked another guy. You’re the one who didn’t come back. Eames, I…,”

              “You what?” Eames challenged, venom with each word.

              “I loved you.”

              Arthur watched as the anger dissipated from Eames’ face and then walked out, leaving Eames by himself in the warehouse. He knew this wasn’t what Cobb meant when he said to “put aside” what happened between he and Eames. Thankfully, Arthur had his room key to the hotel a block down the road in his pocket. He’d only stayed in the room once, but it beat going back to the warehouse. Whatever work that still needed to be done he could try and do at the hotel.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Of course, he didn’t end up doing work. He sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing he could think of anything besides Eames. The way he looked in the warehouse… Jesus. It made Arthur want to rip off Eames’ clothes while simultaneously making him want to hold Eames as tightly as he could and never let him go. All the feelings he once had for Eames came crashing back as if they’d never gone away.

              Arthur got up and went to the bathroom to throw water on his face. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about that stuff when tomorrow was the most important day of his career. He needed to get his head on straight.

              As Arthur was drying his face off, there was a pounding at his door. He was concerned for a second, but then Eames’ voice came through the door.

              “Arthur?” he said. “I know you’re in there, love. Open up.”

              Eames sounded tired and defeated and _broken_. Arthur tossed the towel on the sink and practically threw open his hotel door. Immediately, he noticed that Eames’ right hand was purple and swollen.

              All of the tense emotions faded for a moment because Eames was hurt, and nothing else mattered, and the first thing Arthur was going to do was make sure he was okay.

              Arthur took Eames’ hand in his own and examined it. “What happened? Are you okay?”

              Eames winced. “I’m fine. Took some anger out on the warehouse, that’s all. Can I come in?”

              Arthur let Eames’ hand go but didn’t move from the door.

              “Darling, please?” Eames tried again.

              Arthur sighed and reluctantly moved to the side to let Eames into his hotel room. After closing the door, he went and stood in front of the bed where Eames had sat down. Arthur rested his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

              “You’ve become quite proficient at walking away from me,” Eames started.

              And just like that, Arthur was back in defense mode.

              “You make it easy,” he countered.

              “Since you said what you wanted to say back at the warehouse, I think it’s only fair that you listen to what I have to say.”

              Arthur rolled his eyes. “I think I heard enough of what you have to say already.”

              “For fuck's sake, Arthur, will you stop rolling your eyes and just listen to me?” Eames pleaded. “There was an actual job in Mombasa. I never lied about that. I will admit, though, that I lied about finding you when it was over.”

              “If you were never planning on coming back to me, why did you say you were going to in that note you left?”

              “Darling, I have never felt anything like what I feel when I’m with you. When you told me that as long as you lived, you wouldn’t let me forget you, the reality of what we were doing hit me like a freight train. It scared the living shit out of me, and so I ran. I ran from the only good thing I’ve ever had. I was a coward, a fool even.”

               Arthur huffed out a breath. “I won’t argue with you on that one.”

               The words started pouring out of Eames. “The first two weeks in Mombasa weren’t nearly as horrid as the rest because I had work to keep me occupied. I kept trying to tell myself that I was doing the right thing. After the job was finished, I had to find something, or as it turns out, someone to keep my mind off of you.” Eames stood up and walked towards Arthur. “And then you showed up, looking bloody brilliant in your suit. In this suit, I do believe,” Eames recalled with a small smile, grabbing Arthur’s suit jacket. Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat, but Eames continued. “I knew I made the right decision to leave. You were just standing there looking so damn happy. You were there for me, you were always there for me, and I was quite literally fucking everything up. You deserve so much better,” he added quietly at the end.

              The pain in Eames’ face was softening Arthur’s angry, broken heart, but it still wasn’t good enough.

              “It wasn’t fair,” Arthur said, closing his eyes. He pictured himself back in Mombasa at the moment when he realized what Eames had done. “All I ever wanted was you, but then you fucking ran away and decided I deserved better?” He opened his eyes again to see Eames staring intently at him. “No. You don’t get to decide that.”

              Eames took a deep breath and found an interest in staring at the wall right next to Arthur’s head. “I have made a lot of stupid decisions in my life, but there aren’t any that I hate more than that one.”

              Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Eames shook his head and tightened his grip on Arthur’s jacket, bringing his eyes back to Arthur’s.

              “I’m not done yet,” Eames said. “A few months later, Cobb showed up in Mombasa with a job offer. Inception. He wanted to know if it was possible, and I told him it was perfectly possible because I wanted in on it. Of course, I don’t actually know that for sure, but thank God I said it because then, Cobb mentioned you. I could tell he knew about us by the way he looked at me when he said your name. I said some useless shit about you having no imagination so Cobb would know I wasn’t still attached to you. I needed to see you again, and when I did, you would barely look at me, and I wanted to throw myself off a fucking cliff for hurting you so badly. Darling, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry-,”

              Arthur couldn’t take it anymore and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Eames’ and taking his face in his hands. All of the hurt, love, and anger was wrapped up in that kiss. It wasn’t awkward or clumsy. It was like they picked up right where they had left off months ago.

              Eames pulled away first. “How was that for specificity?” he asked against Arthur’s lips.

              Arthur laughed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Eames, but why do you think I’m going to forgive you so easily?”

              “Because you are a good man,” Eames said seriously. “I can’t let you walk away from me again.”

              “I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur responded. “Except down the hall to get ice for your hand.”

              “Easy now,” Eames said, pressing Arthur against the wall. “I’m just fine. Let me take care of you tonight. I think we could do well with a nice hot shower, don’t you?”

              Eames pulled Arthur’s suit jacket off of him before placing a line of kisses from his jawline down to his neck, lingering in one spot long enough that Arthur knew there would be a mark.

              “We have a job to do tomorrow,” Arthur said, already a little breathless. “The most important job of our lives.”

              “Your point being?” Eames said while untucking Arthur’s shirt. “Off with this.”

              Arthur grabbed onto Eames’ wrists to stop him. “My point is that I still have researching to do.”

              Eames sighed. “Listen to me. The job is going to go off without a hitch. We’ve been preparing for weeks. Whatever mistakes we make now are going to be just that. Mistakes.” Eames kissed Arthur. “Accidents.” Another kiss. “Oopsie-daisies.”

              “Oopsie-daisies, Eames? I don’t think Saito will take an oopsie-daisy as an excuse if we don’t pull through.”

              “We’re going to complete the job, alright? We’re going to perform inception and make an ungodly amount of money. We’ll wake up before anyone else tomorrow and get your things from the warehouse,” Eames suggested. “Just stay here with me tonight.”

              Arthur gave in and nodded. He’d forgotten just how good it felt to be taken care of by Eames.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Arthur prided himself on the fact that he could count on one hand the number of times he had lost his shit in a dream.

              All of that was gone when Saito got shot and when they realized Fischer’s subconscious was militarized. Cobb was right. It was Arthur’s job, his responsibility, to check the mark’s background thoroughly, and clearly, he hadn’t done that. Arthur had spent his last twenty or so jobs working exclusively with Cobb because he promised he’d do everything to help Cobb get back to his kids.

              How could Cobb get home to his kids when the only man able to make it happen was bleeding out on the floor of the warehouse, shot because Arthur couldn’t do his job?

              But that was all before Eames tried to shoot Saito, before Cobb dropped the clusterfuck of a bombshell that if any of them died, they wouldn’t wake up. They’d be lost in limbo forever.

              On top of all the self-hatred and disappointment in himself, another layer of pure anger towards Cobb was added, and Arthur could feel himself cracking. He could feel panic rising, his thoughts becoming unfocused. If he let the panic out in front of everyone, everything would go to shit. Ariadne was already panicking, and Arthur just felt even more anger because how could Cobb be that stupid and selfish to send her down here on her first job and fail to mention limbo? Arthur needed to get somewhere he could be by himself and somehow let all of it out before the projections closed in and before it was too late for Saito.

              Arthur helped Yusuf carry Saito upstairs, and once they set him down on a table, Arthur went in search of a private space. He knew Cobb wanted to move quickly because that was all Cobb ever wanted to do, but Arthur needed time.

              When he found what he was looking for, an empty supply closet, Arthur unsuccessfully got out his anger by kicking a shelving unit that almost ended up on top of him. He wound up pacing the length of the closet, trying to wrap his mind around the impossible situation he helped put the team in.

              What he really needed was Eames to center him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright. He needed Eames to lie to him and say that Saito getting shot wasn’t his fault. More than anything, he needed Eames to pry the gun out of his hand before he shot himself into limbo.

              Instead, Arthur got a frantic Ariadne at the door of the closet.

              “Arthur?” she said breathlessly. “What are you doing in here? Cobb needs you downstairs to talk to Fischer.”

              Arthur didn’t even look in her direction, but he did stop pacing. “I need a minute,” he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

              “Are you okay?” Ariadne asked, tone softening.

              He finally brought his gaze up to her and saw how concerned she was.

              “I’m fine,” he lied.

              Ariadne nodded as though she believed him, but her words told Arthur otherwise. “I’m going to go get Eames.”

              “No, Ari, wait,” Arthur said, stopping Ariadne as she started walking away. “He’s preparing for the forge. I wouldn’t distract him if I were you.”

              Ariadne just smirked. “I’m on strict orders from Eames himself to find you and make sure you’re okay. He’s not doing the forge until he knows you are, and you’re not, so I’m getting him. Cobb can wait.”

              Arthur wasn’t sure Cobb could wait, but he let Ariadne go get Eames. In the meantime, he crumbled back in on himself, thinking of how badly he fucked everything up. He was still in the process of fucking everything up, throwing Cobb off schedule and getting Eames distracted.

              Arthur was repeatedly banging his forehead against the doorframe of the closet when Eames showed up. He let his head rest against the doorframe.

              “I told Ariadne I was fine,” Arthur said.

              “Right, well, forgive me for trusting her judgment a little more than yours right now.” Arthur turned his head to look at Eames, and he must’ve really looked like shit because Eames’ face was more concerned than when Arthur was throwing up blood. “Now, why don’t you put your gun away, hmm?”

              Arthur let out a breath and brought his focus down to the tight grip he still had on his gun. His hand was almost numb from squeezing so tightly that it hurt when he finally let go. Arthur secured the gun in his waistband and shook his hand out.

              Eames walked up to Arthur and placed his hands on his shoulders. “We’ve only just started, darling,” he said. “I can’t have you losing yourself so soon. Talk to me, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

              “Tell me it’s not my fault,” Arthur said, ashamed of the weakness he felt.

              Eames stared at Arthur with wide eyes. “What- Saito? Jesus, Arthur, of course it’s not your fault,” he said with way more sincerity than Arthur could imagine. “You missed a piece of information, so what? You didn’t singlehandedly get Saito shot. Don’t forget that Cobb completely failed to tell us the risks of coming down here.”

              “I don’t miss pieces of information,” Arthur said sternly. “I don’t make those kinds of mistakes.”

              Eames sighed. “I need you to tell that perfectionist voice in your head to shut the fuck up for one second. None of this was ever going to go smoothly, but things are going to get much worse if we don’t move quickly. Yes, Arthur, gorgeous, wonderful, intelligent Arthur, you made a mistake. No one is mad at you for it.” Eames thought for a second. “Okay, Cobb might still be mad, but he can fuck off for all I care.”

              Arthur cracked a small smile and felt the panic and anger start to fade.

              “There’s my Arthur,” Eames said, smiling himself. “I love you, alright?”

              Arthur leaned forward and kissed Eames quickly. “I love you, too. Now, if I’m not mistaken, I think I have a mark to shake up, and you have an old man to forge.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              Arthur grabbed a luggage cart and walked toward the baggage claim carousel, still wondering how the fuck they pulled off inception. Nothing went as smoothly as they had planned, just as Eames said, but it didn’t matter anymore. Arthur honestly never thought he would be able to help Cobb get home to his kids, and when Cobb walked past Arthur, Arthur could tell Cobb didn’t either.

              But they’d done it.

              Arthur gave Cobb a slight smile and continued on his way to the carousel. He wasn’t sure what was next for Cobb, whether he would retire or not. Arthur wasn’t going to lie, he felt a little lost at the thought of not working with him again.

              When Arthur got his bag and turned back around, Eames was there, resting an arm against his own luggage cart. They weren’t supposed to make contact for at least a month, so as much as it pained Arthur, he started to walk right past Eames without a second glance.

              Eames seemed to have other ideas.

              Before Arthur knew it, he was tripping over Eames’ foot that Eames so perfectly placed off to the side as Arthur was walking by.

              Eames quickly turned and grabbed Arthur’s arm to steady him. “Terribly sorry about that, love,” he said with a slight smirk that Arthur could tell was only for him. Eames swiftly moved his hand down to Arthur’s and placed a piece of paper there. “Please forgive me.”

              Just as quickly as Eames had caught Arthur, he was turned back around as though he didn’t know Arthur at all. As Arthur got his bearings and continued walking, he opened the slip of paper in his hands.

_One month exactly. You and me. Rome._

_You were marvellous down there, darling._

_Eames xx._

              And suddenly, Arthur didn’t feel so lost anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, and that's the end! Thank you all so much for reading and for all your comments! They mean the world to me :)


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